“Now we know, according to the Central Communications Center clock downtown, that the Good Samaritan called in the shooting at 10:41:03, which was thirty-four seconds before the shooting took place according to the videotape. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He explained that evening’s trip to the store and then to the Kang home, where he had been allowed access to the watch. He told her that the watch’s setting had not been disturbed since the murders.
“I then called the CCC and got a time check and compared it to the watch. The watch is running only four seconds ahead of the CCC clock. Therefore, that means the video clock was running only four seconds ahead of CCC at the time of the murders.”
Winston narrowed her eyebrows and leaned forward, trying to follow his explanation.
“That would mean…”
She didn’t finish.
“It means that there is almost no difference-just four seconds-between the video clock and the CCC clock. So when the Good Samaritan called in the store shooting at ten forty-one oh three on the CCC clock, it was exactly ten forty-one oh seven on the store clock. There was only four seconds difference.”
“But that’s impossible,” Winston said, shaking her head. “There was no shooting at the time. That’s thirty seconds too early. Gloria wasn’t even in the store yet. She was probably just pulling in.”
McCaleb was silent. He decided to let her make the conclusions without having to be told or prompted. He knew it would have a stronger impact if she came to the same spot he was at on her own.
“So,” she said, “this guy, this Good Samaritan, had to have called in the shooting before the shooting took place.”
McCaleb nodded. He noted the deepening intensity in her eyes.
“Why would he do that unless… he knew. Unless he knew the shooting was going down? He’s-damn!-he’s got to be the shooter!”
McCaleb nodded once more, but this time he had a satisfied smile on his face. He knew he had her in his car now. And they were about to hit the gas pedal.
“A little bit.”
“So then tell me.”
McCaleb was standing in the galley now, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Winston had passed on a drink but was standing in the galley also. Her adrenaline would not allow her to sit. McCaleb knew that feeling.
“Wait a second,” he said.
He gulped down the orange juice in one tilt.
“Sorry, I messed with my blood sugar today, I think. Ate too late.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
He put the glass in the sink, turned and leaned against the counter.
“Okay, this is how I see it. You start with Mr. X, somebody someplace that we’ll assume to be a man for now. This person needs something. A new part. Kidney, liver, maybe bone marrow. Possibly corneas but that might be stretching it. It has to be something worth killing for. Something that he might die without. Or in the case of the cornea, possibly go blind and become non-functioning without.”
“What about a heart?”
“That would be on the list but, see, I got the heart. So scratch the heart unless you are Nevins and Uhlig and Arrango and the rest of them who think I’m Mr. X, okay?”
“Okay. Go on.”
“This guy, X, he’s got money and access. Enough to be able to contact and hire a shooter.”
“With OC connections.”
“Maybe but not necessarily.”
“What about ‘Don’t forget the cannoli’?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that. It’s kind of showy for real organized crime, don’t you think? Makes me think it’s a deflection but for now that’s just a guess.”
“All right, never mind for now. Go on with Mr. X.”
“Well, besides being able to get to a shooter to do the job, he next has to have access to the computer at BOPRA. He’s got to know who has the part that he needs. You know what BOPRA is?”
“I learned today. And I said the same thing about you to Nevins. ‘How could Terry McCaleb get access to BOPRA?’ and he told me how bullshit their computer security is. Their theory is that you hacked in one day when you were at Cedars. You got a list of blood donors of type AB with CMV negative and went from there.”
“Okay. Now follow the same theory but instead of me, it’s Mr. X and he gets the list and then puts the Good Samaritan on the case.”
McCaleb pointed out into the salon, where the image of the Good Samaritan remained frozen on the television screen. They both looked at it for a few moments before he continued.
“The shooter goes down the list and lo and behold he sees a familiar name. Donald Kenyon. Kenyon is a famous man, mostly for all the enemies he has. He becomes the perfect choice because of that. All those enemies-investors and maybe even some mobster lurking behind the scenes, it makes for good camouflage.”
“So the Good Samaritan picks Kenyon.”
